Gust of Wind
by Armontentia
Summary: After the prisoners escape from Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix has to make up for it.


_She was a hurricane_

_But now she's just a gust of wind_

_Katy Perry, 'Pearl'._

Disclaimer: No owning of Harry Potter/Katy Perry for me. :P

A/N: Takes place at Malfoy Manor after all the good guys (well, Griphook isn't good) escape and Bellatrix kills Dobby with the knife.

Hope y'all enjoy!

Mucheo Loveo

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

She looked pitiful, if you were unaware of who she was or what she'd done.

Her lacy, stringed, corseted dress, with threads holding up her sleeves, was stained slightly with blood – yet, for once, it was her own. Her wild black curls were hiding her pretty, bowed head, falling onto the wooden floor. Tears kept splashing down, and by the speed they were trickling down, there would soon be a small puddle.

Several moments ago, he'd realised she had placed her favourite knife in front of herself, and the one she normally carried around with her was missing – as was the wand shaped like a bird of prey's talon. Her knees were not trembling like Lucius' or Narcissa's, but still and covered by the black skirts of her dress.

"Bellatrix," he purred softly, causing her brother-in-law and sister to flinch after the tense silence, "where is your wand?"

The tears started falling more rapidly, and he saw Narcissa bit her pale lip.

"I-I… di-dis…" she stuttered in a whisper, before shaky breaths were heard from her mouth. Lucius – eager to get back into his Lord's good books – took the chance to do so.

"She was disarmed, my Lord,"

Lord Voldemort looked into Bellatrix's eyes (which had risen from looking down at her trembling hands up to hesitantly see his reaction), shock only just visible in his expression.

"By a teenager?" he demanded coldly.

"By D-Dobby," she corrected in a hushed tone; barely audible.

"Dobby?"

"My old house-elf," replied Lucius.

Bellatrix's body shook with silent sobs, so violently that the Dark Lord wondered if she would topple forward from the kneeling position she was in.

"_You_," he hissed, stepping forward with each word, "were disarmed by a _house-elf_?"

As he had thought: she was shaking so much she was now on her stomach, face pressed against the planks as well as hands, failing to push her weight up even though she had barely gained any since she was broken out of Azkaban.

Voldemort crouched down, wand twirling in his bony, white hand, the other lifting his most loyal servant's chin as she seemed unable to do such a thing for herself. "I'm beginning to ask myself whether those years teaching you were a waste of time, _Bella_." He used her pet name with such venom that she almost wished he hadn't called her that at all.

"My Lord," Narcissa's voice murmured, "I assure you they were not."

Only Lucius did not look at her.

Despite the wetness of them, Bellatrix's eyes clearly said "Don't you dare."

Memories of her eldest sister being so happy and working so hard flicked through the blonde sibling's mind, but she remembered to use Occlumency to block anyone else from seeing.

"Leave us," Voldemort commanded, eyes locked with Bellatrix's once more.

Vaguely aware of Lucius and Narcissa leaving, Bellatrix hoped her undescribable apology was known to her Master.

"You have failed me _again_! Why? Has Azkaban _weakened _you? Do you _know _why you have been punished?" he said, with a rage he could not recall ever having in the woman before, and a kick in her weak side. "Why you are to be punished _again_?"

Her gaze had fallen to her legs once more.

"_Look at me_!"

He shoved her backwards, then placed a booted foot on her; digging it in until a strangled sob was forced of the her mouth – and still her black iris' hid under heavy lids refused to obey him.

A low growl was in his throat as he started to walk over her fragile body. Each step, another whimper.

"You are lucky you serve me well at the best of times, dear. Anyone else would surely have been dead by now."

The Dark Lord moved some hair out of her face, before pointing his wand at her, no regret behind any of the blows of the Cruciatus curse, nor any mercy.

Each hit calmed him down a little.

Just a little.


End file.
